


Glory

by demon_dream



Category: Boku no Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Fear of Rejection, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, POV Second Person, PTSD, Present Tense, Work In Progress, enough metaphors to sink the Titanic, fear of the dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_dream/pseuds/demon_dream
Summary: Midoriya Izuku burns. Midoriya Izuku reaches.He wants, he needs, he reaches out into the dark and burns for something he can barely put into words.He opens his mouth to try, because he always tries, and this time all of that determination and yearning bubbles out of him.The world inside of Izuku and the world outside of Izuku connect.





	Glory

  You're limp in the summer heat, pinned to the cool grass by the unrelenting sun and dazedly watching the dappled light filter through the old oak tree. Cicadas buzz out of sight.  
  You're too aware, not exactly drifting, but your mind buzzes mutedly behind glassy eyes. Idle factoids trickle through like sand in a sieve. It's the dog days of summer, you read that in a newspaper. An idiom. You know where it came from, you know lots of things. Stars. You liked stars, once. They're too far away, the only one within reach burns too furiously to approach. That's why you're here, after all. Laid flat by the heat. He's why you're here.  
   Sirius is the brightest star in the sky. The Egyptians marked their calendar by it, lives orbiting the Nile floods and the floods following the dog star. Alpha Canis Majoris. Asterisms. Astronomically, a white dwarf as of something like a hundred million years ago. Astrologically, a terrible omen. Bringer of parched heat, sudden storms, weakness, madness. You feel a little mad yourself, right now, brain melting out your ears and looking the sun square in the eye.  
   That's bad for your health. Your eyes hood and turn away.  
   You're starstruck even now, an idiot, a lunatic. You can feel yourself rotting in the summer heat, useless, but still there's something bright and piercing in your chest. Not embers. More like splinters of something you're too tired, soul-deep exhausted, to define. So small.  
   But the light refuses to waver, and even if your world is screaming at you to lie down and drown in yourself, you have no choice but to hold onto those brilliant splinters in your chest and let it haul you upright, possessed.  
   It's alive inside of your hollow ribcage, alien, and later you will call this dissociation while trawling through WebMD on an insomniac night. You're not entirely correct.  
   The heat moves through your bones and you breathe bitter determination.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't really sure what to name this. I just have an image in my head, really. It's all very dream-foggy. Glory means a lot of things, more than just renown or beauty. It's the luminous aura of beauty and terror exhuded by beings we don't understand, so ineffectively and desperately reproduced by inadequate oil paints throughout the centuries.  
> Morning glories in the Victorian era signified love, mortality, and love in vain.


End file.
